


power and control.

by plasmidify



Category: Call of Cthulhu (Roleplaying Game), Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Character Study, Eldritch Abominations (Cthulhu Mythos), Gen, Mind Control, Oneshot Sequel, Prohibition, Psychological Horror, Substance Abuse, The Necronomicon, but lowkey she's okay with it, cosmic horror, the mortifying ordeal of confronting your own meaningless humanity, yes i am using a marina song lyric title in the year of our lord 2020 bc i’m what? sickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasmidify/pseuds/plasmidify
Summary: as cora d’angelo lay dying, she took a drag from her cigar and saw constellations under her eyelids.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	power and control.

**Author's Note:**

> some background: cora d’angelo (or blondie, as she was known) is a call of cthulhu ttrpg oc of mine i played a few years ago now, and i wanted to explore her life (or, lack thereof) after the events of our oneshot game. for context, blondie was a sort of bootlegger/criminal Bad Bitch Flapper Who Lives For Danger sort of character, but she ended up having way more depth to her than i originally planned, hence this character study/sort of sequel jumping out of me and into a google doc at 3am.
> 
> also, disclaimer: i do not respect that nazi bitch hp lovecraft but the oneshot was loosely based off the dunwich horror, hence the mythos tag. he sucks though. just so we're clear
> 
> this has in no way been edited or beta read so sorry about, uh, everything,

as cora d’angelo lay dying, she took a drag from her cigar and saw constellations under her eyelids.

it wasn’t the cosy, hazy feeling of a looking at a night sky, with a lover late at night (leo had taken her to the hill to look at the stars the night they got engaged, and now he’s **DEAD DEAD DEAD I CAN CHANGE YOU SAVE YOU SUBMIT YOUR MIND** )

it was sharp, and nauseating, and something she knew she couldn’t, shouldn’t be seeing, but blondie didn’t have enough energy in her to care about that anymore. she hadn’t cared for much since that awful fucking night, on that hill, with those people and that _thing_ —

her hands shook as she tapped her ash on the floor, and the constellations grew sharper, her mind beginning to comprehend the sickeningly wrong angles, but she didn’t scream. she wasn’t afraid, although she knew she should be. she was tired, but mostly she was angry; living and dying like this was absolutely pathetic and honestly incredibly beneath her.

( **I CAN MAKE YOU GREAT I CAN CHANGE YOU FIX YOU SURRENDER TO ME** )

she knew she probably deserved no better death than this, though; she was, objectively, a horrible person. funny how losing your mind could provide so much clarity. 

( **YOU ARE NOT LOST YOU ARE MINE ONLY MINE** )

she cheated, she lied, she stole, she’d killed, when she needed to. she was vain, selfish and a terrible wife and mother.

mother. her eyes burned beneath her lids and the constellations receded for a few seconds before returning with hideous clarity.

thank fuck lorna wasn’t here to see her like this. she didn’t have the energy to miss her, but she was a good kid.

( **ALL THAT YOU ARE IS MINE SUBMIT YIELD TO ME** )

when leo had died, she pretended like taking over his business dealings was a terrible burden; her, such a pretty little thing, involved in such terrible business? trafficking illegal contraband? cruising clubs at night, evading the law? threatening, and even carrying out, violence? oh, she just couldn’t. couldn’t leave her child with another for her own safety, couldn’t turn to that kind of life. but she must.

and she absolutely fucking _loved_ it. sure, she despised having to talk the stupid macho bullshit just to be understood and respected (if you could even call it that). but she loved the look in people’s eyes when she gave an order and they knew they had no choice but to obey, not because of who her husband had been but because when she flashed the tommy barely concealed behind her they knew she had no qualms about using it. 

she loved the status it afforded her, the easy access to almost any substance she could think of, the opportunity to be both worse and better, make more and less of herself than anyone would ever have expected. she loved it more than she had ever loved anything or anyone, and she wanted ( **MORE MORE MORE LET ME IN OBEY SUBMIT** )

power was all she had ever wanted. she never wanted to want for or fear anything ever again, and that feeling made sure she never would.

( **THEY WILL ALL FEAR YOU ME US** )

it was what made her take on that stupid job in the first place. business had been running dry (literally) as the city cops began to close in on their operation. she needed the extra money (the cigars and whiskey weren’t going to pay for themselves) and throwing some false leads to that dumb as shit cop had been easy enough.

and then there was the book. ( **RELENT RELENT LET GO GIVE IN** )

power was what made her reach out for the book, too. everyone in their little party seemed to have different reactions to it; some went into shock, fainting, retching, getting as far away from it as quickly as possible. some started laughing, and wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop. she just stopped and stared. she felt the power rolling off it in waves, almost physically tangible, sticky in the night air like tar and just as dark. she had walked up to it, reached out and touched it.

( **OPEN YOUR MIND BODY BEING TO ME LET ME TAKE CONTROL LET ME IN** )

that was four months ago. the hallucinations started a few days after she returned. at first, her reflection seemed off somehow - the curves of her face and bounce of her curls seemed wrong, like their fundamental structure had shifted ever so slightly, but she chalked it up to exhaustion and having been drunk for a full 24 hours straight.

then came... everything else.

for a while, business was surprisingly good. she noticed an uptick in deals going her way, and she managed to talk herself out of sticky situations with the cops with considerably more ease than she was used to. the golden girl was back, and if she heard constant whispers in the far reaches of her mind telling her to ( **OBEY SUBMIT RELEASE YOUR MIND** ) well, it was fine. she just needed to lay off the moonshine for a while. (she’d known that for years, of course, and she couldn’t stop now even if she did want to. and she didn’t, not really.)

it wouldn’t last. gradually, her business associates withdrew, making excuses to reach out to other contacts, cancelling meetings, and the like. then they outright stopped speaking to her, wouldn’t address her, began excluding her from meetings. she screamed, threw things, called them every name she could think of but still they refused to look her in the eye. it was only when she cornered one of the younger ones, someone’s son maybe, and shoved her pistol barrel into his throat, that she learned the truth.

“w-well, mrs. d’angelo, t-the truth is that everyone’s afraid of that look you got in your eye. we... d-don’t like it. beg your pardon, ma’am, i don’t mean no offence by it.”

the young man died inexplicably in his sleep that night. blondie heard he’d suffered convulsions and screamed until his lungs gave out, and she felt horrifically _proud_.

her ever-present addictions grew tenfold, the only sensations that could somewhat numb the feeling of something ( **YIELD SUBMIT OBEY** ) crawling inside the flesh of her brain, invading her dreams, showing her hateful, incomprehensible ( **GLORIOUS** ) visions.

she was cut off. none of those cowardly fucks would do business with her, and she was afraid of what she might do if one of them actually grew a set and confronted her about it ( **LET THEM SEE WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF WHAT I CAN GIVE YOU RELENT SUBMIT** )

she took to roaming the streets at night, laughing at all those who took one look at her and fled, a deep, sickening fear shining as clear as moonlight in their eyes.

she didn’t feel manic, though. she knew she had a purpose, and her attempts to escape it were only achieving exactly the opposite. she had little strength left to fight it anymore, nor any surprise or anguish to feel as a hungry excitement filled her at the thought— that she was almost ready ( **READY YOU ARE READY ACCEPT ME SUBMIT YOUR MIND** )

the hallucinations came to a crescendo, and nothing looked or sounded or felt right. architecture twisted and warped at angles that made blondie’s head hurt like a match had been struck deep within her psyche, but she didn’t (couldn’t) mind much. faces melted away, laying bare the loathsome, pitiful humanity beneath, and she wanted to cry because she hated them so much, hated that they dared to classify _her_ as one of _them_ ( **YOU WERE NEVER WEAK LIKE THEY ARE** )

she managed to find her way back to her apartment, eventually. she made herself a gin and tonic, the rhythmic clicking of her rings against the glass as her hands shook providing a focus for her next actions, which she knew would be her last.

she had lost track of how long she’d been lying on her bed, smoking and willing herself to feel fear, or guilt, or sadness, anything but the pure, singular elation coursing through her. if this was death, maybe it was better than people say. blondie took the last drag from her cigar, letting the rest fall to the floor. with the last of her strength, she pushed herself upright and, sitting on the edge of her bed, opened her eyes.

she wasn’t in her bedroom anymore. she knew deep down in her bones that she hadn’t been for a long while, and never would be again. but it didn’t really matter, not anymore. she could see the stars more clearly now, winking in and out of existence in a dizzying blur, and she thought she might be cold, if she was still able to feel in that way.

she stood up, finding that her strength had returned to her, and sighed. “fine, you win. what do you want from me? whatever it is, you can have it. my life isn’t really my own anyway, thanks to _you_.”

there was silence that could have lasted seconds or a century, if time existed in this place at all. then that voice, no longer confined to blondie’s mind alone, was all around her, seeming to emanate from the stars themselves. it filled the space entirely and bore down on her with a force that should have shattered every single bone in her body. but it didn’t, and she listened to the words she had hoped to hear. 

**YOU ARE MINE, VESSEL**

**I AM YOU**

**RENDER YOUR BEING TO ME**

**THEY WILL FEAR US**

**WE WILL TRIUMPH**

blondie considered, then smirked. “triumph, huh? i like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first piece of fictional writing i’ve completed in many, many years (more to prove that i could, than anything else) and probably only makes sense to me and like three other people, but i hope it’s somewhat enjoyable nonetheless!
> 
> as a fun extra, you can check out my pinterest board for blondie [ here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pIasmids/occ-dangelo/)! she is (was) a swell (terrible) gal and i love her


End file.
